The Space Between
by my fragile trust
Summary: Even when we run away, our past always remains connected to us, no matter how much space separates us. A confused Tristan returns to Chilton and a senior trip raises even more questions. Trory. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Space Between

**Rating:** R

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. The characters and situations of this fic belong to their respective copyright owners. (Amy Sherman Palladino is my Goddess!) The song lyrics used at the beginning of every chapter are also copyright of its respective owners, sung by Dave Mathews Band.

**Summary:** Even when we run away, our past always remains connected to us, no matter how much space separates us.

**Written in response to the following fic request:**

**Rating of fic:** R

**Things to include: **

1. Tristan jealousy and angst

2. some kind of fight

3. banter

4. heat of the moment sex/heat of some sort

**Things not to include: **

Luke/Lorelai crap, too much stupidity on Rory's part

**Author's Note:** There are many people I'd like to thank, most prominently Priya and Julie.  Thanks for the encouragement you guys. I would also like to thank the wonderful creators of this exchange. If it weren't for all of you, I would never have successfully finished a multi-chapter fic for the first time! (I know…I'm terrible with finishing what I've started.) And a final thanks to superscar for requesting this fic idea.  It was a joy to write, though fairly rushed at times. So I hope I was able to meet up to your expectations. Oh and try to excuse the very unoriginal title…=|

Happy reading!

*** * * * * *  
The Space Between**

**Chapter 1  
****Written by give me back me**

_You cannot quit me so quickly_

_Is no hope in you for me_

_No corner you could squeeze me_

_But I got all the time for you, love_

_The Space Between_

_The tears we cry_

_Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more_

_The Space between_

_The wicked lies we tell_

_And hope to keep us safe from the pain_

The thought of returning to this place has both haunted him and excited him. To the place that showers him with endless possibilities for gratification and success. To the place that has ironically given him no kind of fulfillment, rendering him alone in a mass of malicious self-interested people. To the place that decides one's future based on social standing more than academics. To the place where he once stood as the idolized King. And he was their king; the king with no true queen except for the dark-haired blue-eyed one that resided in his heart. 

Now the moment of return has come and he can't decide whether he is terrified or delighted. The mass of churning emotions has overpowered his senses to the point of near-numbness. His mind has been racing for hours, and at long last, the thoughts have seemingly frozen--all has become disturbingly calm for Tristan DuGrey as he drives towards Chilton Prep, the high school he had left a year and a half before.

Having previously decided to arrive at school early (because he doesn't particularly want to spend his entire lunch period answering the mobs of questions he is sure to receive), his black Mercedes Benz whips into the same spot it resided in before. The current occupant of the spot is simply going to have to adjust; likewise, the entire school will have to adjust to the return of its infamous, most desired bad-boy of the century.

_Including me_, Tristan thinks to himself as he exits his car and walks up the entrance steps. Pausing to check his hair in his reflection of the window, he takes in a deep wavering breath to maintain his cool. Satisfied with his hair, his lips mold into the infamous smirk--known for it's unavoidable tendency of both charming and infuriating. Mostly charming, though. And with this confident thought in mind, the butterflies in his stomach recede a little as he steps through the doorway.

The hallway is nearly empty. Taking his first steps inside Chilton, he looks more closely at his surroundings. Its checkered floors and locker-covered walls are the same, but the artwork and posters are different. New stickers have been placed on numerous lockers as well. Refusing to let the changes unsettle him, he strolls through the halls to the Headmaster's office.

After knocking lightly on the door, the Headmaster's secretary leads Tristan to the office. Now face-to-face with a once-adversary, the realization of his return sinks into him. Back to the same headmaster, the same teachers, the same students. As he seats himself from across the Headmaster, his thoughts are suddenly jumbled with uncertainties.

"Thank you, Margaret," says the Headmaster to his secretary. She quickly exits, shutting the door behind her and leaving Tristan and his "old friend" at each others discourses. The two gaze at each other a moment before the Headmaster clears his throat.

"Well, Tristan. It's good to see you," says the elder with a faint smile. Remaining silent, Tristan nods his blonde head in agreement.

"I agree with your father that your return to Chilton is for the best. He says you've come a long way in the past year and a half, and I'm looking forward to see what you can accomplish during your last year of high school," the Headmaster continues with a slight air of superiority. After momentarily adjusting his tie, the Headmaster places a manila folder on his desk and gently nudges it towards Tristan. Recognizing it immediately, Tristan swallows hard, knowing that if he is asked to speak, he wouldn't have the voice to do it.

"That is your permanent record," he continues. "For now, I am willing to forget this folders existence. I want to give you this second, and final, chance with a clean slate. Despite our past grievances, I have faith in you, Tristan. I've always felt you have great potential and I hope to see you progress this year. I will be keeping a close eye on you, though, checking in with you from time to time. I also would like to give you fair warning that your father has asked me to report to him if anything should go wrong. He has also promised to remove you from this school if any such event should occur." 

By this point, Tristan has sunk so low into his seat he feels as if it may swallow him whole. With each word Tristan feels heavier as new weights stack upon his shoulders and pushes him further down. The day has yet to begin, and already the pressure has his knees buckling. His internal torment must have been evident upon his face because the Headmaster suddenly becomes concerned.

"Being stern with students is a formal policy I have always exercised. But, in some more unique cases, such as this, I make exceptions. So, I have decided to humor you and give you a couple of weeks to get settled in." Tristan's eyes snap to his teacher's in surprise. He shifts his weight, about to speak but the Headmaster cuts him short.

"To help you adjust I have assigned you a mentor, a fellow student with exemplary standings within this school, that will help you to catch up with the rest of your class. Be grateful that you will have assistance because no matter what this next month or so will be unavoidably difficult for you," finishes the Headmaster on a final tone. Searching for words, but finding none proper enough for the moment, Tristan merely nods and stands to his feet.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Tristan says politely as he clutches his bag.

"I wish you well, Tristan," replies the Headmaster. As Tristan reaches the door he suddenly hears an exasperated "Oh!" sound behind him.

"I forgot to tell you that your mentor will be meeting with you before your first period. She will be waiting in the library." And with that the Headmaster turns back to his papers. 

After leaving the office and the secretary gives him his new locker assignment, Tristan wanders the halls in a daze. Ever since the Headmaster's "speech" his mind has been reeling with waves of anxiety; although, the thought of some assistance did lighten his thoughts a little. It will be nice to have someone helping him with an already difficult situation. _Hopefully the person will know more about the academic circle than the social one_, he thinks to himself. 

Spinning the combination on his locker, he is suddenly plagued with the realization that everyone has even higher expectations for him than usual. He outwardly groans, catching the attention of group of girls just arriving. Recognizing a few, he flashes his well-patented smirk and the girls immediately begin to buzz with excited whispers. 

"And so it starts," Tristan mutters to himself while closing his locker. Estimating exactly how long it will take for the entire school to realize he's back, he makes his way to the library at a slightly quicker pace than before, now set on disappearing before the crowds can envelope him whole.

He pushes his way through the library doors and abruptly stops. There, sitting on one of the library sofas reading a book, is Rory Gilmore. He gaze skittishly flickers around the library for another person, anyone but her. But there is none, and Tristan is struck with a sudden urge to turn around and run right back to military school.

How bittersweet his time away from her has been. It's easier to feel longing for someone because of distance, rather than long for that person while they sit two rows away in English class. Tristan's time at military school has proven to be an experience that has ultimately changed many parts of him, but not once has his affection for a certain innocent, blue-eyed small town girl ever wavered.

Being away from her and the constant heartache he seemed to find from her presence, Tristan had hoped he would finally find peace. Peace from the awkward thud of his heart in unison to the twisted pains of his stomach that he had always felt at the sight of her. At military school, not only had he trained his body, but also he had trained his mind to block thoughts of her and the other stresses of his life in Hartford, Connecticut. His rich upper-crust family, his "friends" that found entertainment in the undermining of others, his constant advantage over others. For once Tristan hadn't been a man's man, where everyone expected him to be a certain person in order to commit to his social status as the hierarchy of school of mindless lemurs.

And now he has returned to it all; the heartache that he has been so intent to erase has once again invaded all his barriers. Sitting before him, and as always entirely oblivious to his presence, Tristan is once again stuck between the aggravated anger and the undeniable desire that accompanies all that is Rory Gilmore. Stuck between wanting to forget her and wanting to spend the rest of his days remembering her. Stuck between denying any feeling and feeling everything at once.

With these thoughts racing through his mind, Tristan unintentionally groans audibly, catching the attention of the object of his thoughts. Her soft blue eyes, slightly startled, meet with his striking blues, and within an instant her expression shifts from recognition, to shock, and unexpectedly, transforms into a glorious smile. Instantly, a warm feeling fills him and without thought he returns her infectious smile. Having seemingly forgotten his motor skills, she decidedly leaves her perch and approaches him, her smile having yet to fade. 

With each step she takes, the space between them shrinks smaller and when she stops a mere two feet from him, the room seems nonexistent. All of a sudden the surrounding air filling his lungs feels hot and the palms of his hands begin to moisten. Every molecule of his body hums like electricity with every violent pound of his heart. Oh hell the things she does to him.

"Tristan," she breathes, her voice the sweetest melody to his ears. Reveling in the sensations he has fought back for so long, Tristan continues to gaze intently into her eyes.

"Rory," he replies, somehow finding his voice. Also finding his limbs to be at last functional, he moves towards the sofa containing her belongings. The two seat themselves, Rory sitting noticeably closer to him than he remembers her ever doing so before. Trying not to focus on his swirling emotions he turns to her with a brilliant smirk. Yes, bad-boy is more comfortable than the nervous-palm-sweating-teenage-boy.

"So, expecting me, Mary?" he quips slyly, trying not to sound too obnoxious but enough to possibly get a rise out of her. He loves to make her respond to him, in whatever way possible. Surprisingly, she simply laughs--something he can't remember ever making her do; and the feeling of knowing that he is the one who makes her laugh rather than the one who makes her angry is suddenly much more exciting than he ever thought possible.

"I most definitely was not," Rory replies with a grin. "But I'm glad to see you here. I've been wondering how military school's been treating you. I can see it didn't kill you, so that's good." Unable to help himself, his grin stretches from ear to ear. His already quivering insides suddenly burst with a newfound delight of butterflies and erratic heartbeats. Her grin instantly widens in reaction to his. Recovering from his daze, Tristan molds his joyous grin into its usual smirk.

"Well, since I kind of already know everything about Chilton, considering I did go here for a while, let's skip the school tour and hit one of my favorite places…" he pauses before he continues, "the janitors closet." He finishes with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows and he makes a motion to stand. Her grin slightly falters at his words and as if on cue her eyes roll dramatically.

"And it's good to know you haven't changed at all, Tristan Dugrey," she announces shortly. Rory reaches into her bag and pulls out a plain folder stuffed with papers. He eyes her curiously, readjusting himself on the sofa so he can face her.

"Enough with the pleasantries, we have a lot to discuss in the next ten minutes before that bell rings and you're thrown back into the school from hell," she explains all in one breath. Giving her a queer look his smirk grows.

"So ready to get rid of me, I see. But Mary we haven't _really_ exchanged pleasantries yet," he remarks, leaning into her personal space to further prove his point. Rory shakes herself slightly, ignores his previous comment, and begins pulling papers from the folder.

"I won't be getting rid of you any time soon, Tristan. According to your schedule…" she pauses as she hands him a piece of paper, "you have first hour with me. As well as fourth and seventh." She watches him as he looks over the schedule. As his eyes travel down the list, his smirk disappears into a frown.

"Is something wrong?" she asks with some concern.

"It looks as though my father picked out all of my classes," he replies, keeping his eyes on the paper in front of him. 

"Well, why do you say that?" she says, giving him a curious look. He finally glances away from the paper, meeting her eyes briefly before locking them back on the paper.

"Because they're all very challenging. He's put me in the honors classes rather than the regular ones that I had been flunking out of the last time I was here," he explains looking slightly petrified. His expression soon turned to that of anger and he grumbles, "Figures that that's why I have so many classes with you." Rory hesitates a second before taking the schedule from his hands and glancing over it.

"It's alright. The fact that we have classes together is a good thing. I can help you if you feel like you're falling behind," she suggests looking optimistic. His eyes snap up and he gazes intensely at her. Looking startled, Rory breaks their eye contact and busies herself with more papers from the folder.

"I went ahead and asked the teachers for the assignments you have missed so far. Since it's still the beginning of the year you haven't missed that many," she says handing him his schedule back along with the folder. She continues, "I think most of it is self-explanatory, but if you aren't sure about something just ask me and I'll see what I can do." She begins to gather her belongings he follows suit.

  
"So what's first hour?" he asks as they enter the crowded hallway. Tristan decides that it's better to focus his attention on her rather than the many pairs of eyes now following his every move. 

"English," she replies, pushing through the last bit of crowd into the classroom. At her voice he stops short, standing just inside the classroom. He glances around, noticing her taking her seat towards the middle. The teacher suddenly notices him and motions for him to join her.

"Well hello, you must be Tristan DuGrey." Her comment, meant as a statement and not a question, suddenly reminds Tristan of the "all knowing" egotistical teachers of this school. Immediately he feels a new weight loading itself on his shoulders.

"Now if you could take your seat in the empty one next to the window," she continues with a quick gesture of impatience. Taking his seat he feels both unlucky and lucky to be seated next to the window. Lucky that he has the best view for distraction, but unlucky during the winter months when he will be sure to freeze. Tristan glances around, observing the people near him. Suddenly, a new wave of unlucky irony plows into him with full force. Rory is seated only two rows to his right and as he studies her he is suddenly filled with a powerful longing once again. As Tristan prepares for the start of class he realizes that the space between he and Rory Gilmore has made a full circle, back to where he started a year and a half ago; and he is still unsure of whether that space holds promise or heartache. 

***

Two weeks has passed, and though his life has settled down significantly, Tristan still finds his thoughts and emotions in a confused state of maddening desire and fear. In the days following his fateful return, to this very moment in his seventh period class, Tristan has buried himself in his schoolwork as a way to occupy his thoughts that otherwise would be consumed by her. He has found this to be to his advantage, as his work is actually getting done and he is maintaining a high average in all of his classes.

"Tristan," the teacher calls motioning for him to join her at the front of the room. Snapping from his reverie he realizes the entire class is staring at him. Blinking away any embarrassment he follows the request. She begins to hand him an office pass but she suddenly snatches it back.

"Oh, and Rory. They want you as well," the teacher states. Handing him the slip of paper once again, he and Rory exit the classroom. Just outside of the door Tristan pauses to inspect the pass.

"What's it say?" Rory asks. Having chosen to ignore her voice, and her presence entirely, as much as possible for the past two and a half weeks Tristan is more than startled to hear it ringing so closely to his ear. She notices him jump and gives him a peculiar look.

"It just says Tristan Dugrey and Rory Gilmore to the Headmaster's office," Tristan explains with a shrug. Rory also shrugs and the two silently make their way to the office. The secretary lets them in and with a strange sense of de ja vu, Tristan enters the office to find the headmaster seated behind his desk.

"Ah, Ms. Gilmore and Mr. DuGrey. Please be seated," the headmaster says, waving the secretary away. From Tristan's left, Rory gives him a nervous side-glance and he momentarily catches her gaze. At that very moment two stomachs flutter and two minds deliberately ignore the flutters as they take their seats.

"Is anything the matter?" Rory suddenly asks the headmaster, clearing her throat.

"Oh no, dear. Quite the contrary, actually. I've asked you both here to have a short chat about Tristan's progress these past weeks," he explains. They both nod and the headmaster takes it as a sign to continue. He turns slightly towards Tristan. "Tristan, I am pleased to say you have been doing quite well. Your grades are, at this point, among the highest in your class, not much below Ms. Gilmore here." From the corner of his eye Tristan can see Rory beaming at him proudly and he suddenly feels his face grow very warm.

"I always knew there was something about you, Tristan," the headmaster continues. "And I'm delighted to see you have proven me correct. Although I wasn't originally going to let you attend the senior class trip this year, I've decided that, given the circumstances, you have given me no reason not to let you go. Keep up the good work for the next five days, and in a week from today you'll be on that bus to Washington D.C. with the rest of your class," finishes the headmaster with an affirming nod. 

The flood of information has ridden Tristan almost to the point of numbness. Having not realized that the senior class would indeed be taking its annual trip, a glimmer of excitement suddenly bursts within him. _Every teenager's dream_, he thinks to himself. _An out of state trip with all of our closest friends and with minimal chaperoning._ At his thoughts his smirk unintentionally appears.

"And Rory," begins the headmaster, breaking through Tristan's thoughts, "I wanted to have a word with you in private also." Taking the hint, Tristan politely stands to his feet.

"Thank you, headmaster," he says as he exits the room. He pauses just outside the door, intending to wait for Rory, but noticing the secretary eyeing him suspiciously he changes his mind. Instead, he leaves the offices, makes a sharp right, and settles himself on a nearby bench. After only a few minutes, a flash of long brown hair catches his eye just as she turns down the opposite hall. He silently scurries after her.

"Hello, Mary," he whispers seductively into her ear. She jumps in surprise, grabbing her chest. Nearly stumbling over her own feet, he reaches out and catches her wrist, steadying her. Instantaneously, an electric-like sensation courses through him at the connection of his hand with her arm. Caught in a swarm of sensations, he stares into her eyes intensely. To his surprise, she stares back, her eyes looking startled and her skin flushed. Feeling his motor skills begin to work, Tristan suavely removes his hand from hers and runs it through his blonde hair.

"Damn Gilmore, you always this jumpy?" he asks with an air of arrogance in his tone. She seems to instantly recover at the sound of his voice because her eyes immediately narrow at him.

"You are such a jerk sometimes, DuGrey," she snaps in annoyance. She hastily turns on her heel and continues on her way down the hall. Unable to help himself, Tristan hurries after her.

"You know, Mary, I'm amazed you lasted this long before insulting me. That has to be a personal record for you," he quips, his smirk growing. She seems to consider ignoring him for a moment before a smirk of her own appears.

"I'd be careful what you say to me for the next week if I were you," she comments with a glowering expression that he finds oddly distasteful and equally arousing all in one. He decides to step up his antics. Just as she begins to make a left he abruptly swings in front of her, reaching his hand across her front and leaning against the adjacent wall. She nearly trips to avoid running into him.

"And why would I do a thing like that, Mary?" he says in a near growl, his voice deepening as his flirtations increase. Per usual, she doesn't bat an eye.

"Well, if you really want to go on this senior trip I suggest you treat me a little nicer considering I have been given the power to omit you from it," she explains with a smirk of superiority. Trying his best to keep his cool and hide his surprise he narrows his eyes at her suspiciously.

"What do you mean you can 'omit' me from the trip?" With each word her smirk seemingly grows.

"Exactly what I said. The headmaster has given me the 'privilege' of keeping an eye on you for the next week and also during the trip. I'm not sure if I am supposed to be telling you this or not, but seeing that I can use it to my advantage I don't see why not. So I seriously recommend you be on your best behavior during the trip, Dugrey." Looking satisfied with herself, Rory steps around his tall form and walks the remaining distance alone, leaving a bewildered bad-boy behind. 


	2. Chapter 2

**The Space Between**

**Chapter 2  
****by give_me_back_me**

_But will I hold you again? _

_These fickle, fuddled words confuse me_

_Like 'Will it rain today?'_

_Waste the hours with talking, talking_

_These twisted game we play_

_We're strange allies_

_With warning hearts_

_What wild-eyed beast you be_

_The Space Between_

_The wicked lies we tell_

_And hope to keep us safe from the pain_

_Will I hold you again?_

_Will I hold…_

_So stupid!_ Tristan silently reprimands himself as he pulls into the Chilton parking lot and parks next to the already loaded busses. In a rushed state of near hysterics he gathers his things and rushes to the nearest teacher with a clipboard, barely finding a moment to click his BMW locked. He is just about to set his bags down when the teacher makes a sound of disapproval in her throat.

"Tristan DuGrey I presume?" she questions looking over the tops of her oval spectacles. Trying not to appear too sheepish he nods methodically, thinking up excuses in his mind.

"Don't even bother with your bags. The only bus with room left is the blue bus, in the back. Take your things and board quickly," she explains sounding peeved. "Oh, and do try to be more timely from now on," she continues scathingly. Silently rolling his eyes at the teacher's obvious displeasure, he brushes off all previous anxieties and makes his way to the bus. After dropping off his bags he climbs in with every intention to sit the farthest to the back as possible. As soon as he is in full view of the patrons of the bus, though, his hopes fall as he notes the bus filled to near capacity. 

"Just great," he mumbles while he makes his way down the aisle. Coming upon an empty seat towards the middle he begins to seat himself when he suddenly realizes the other occupant. Shaking off the sudden chills running down his spine, he smirks.

"I think I deserve a reward," Tristan says with a sly grin, swinging into the empty seat next to Rory. Her head whips away from the window in surprise and Tristan suddenly finds himself staring into the eyes of a very annoyed Rory.

"What?" she snaps back at him, her vehemence catching him off-guard. Startled by her reaction, Tristan gives her a concerned look.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice steady but light. She glares at him for a moment before letting out a deep breath. Her expression softens as she tucks stray strands of chocolate hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry. I've been having a bad day," she explains, somewhat forced. Tristan studies her as she shifts around in the cramped bus seat. _Her body language seems different_, he thinks to himself as he observes her straight back, pursed lips, and clenched hands. Feeling disturbed by her sudden change, he wonders what could have happened to upset her so much. _She always seems like the type that's in control of their emotions_, he ponders.

"Why do you think you deserve a reward?" she questions, interrupting his thoughts. His grin instantly reappears and he leans a little closer to her, his intentions to charm.

"For playing the good guy this past week. I think such a strain on someone deserves a little reward at the end, don't you think?" he leers at her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Rory's frowns disapprovingly and rolls her eyes.

"In your dreams, DuGrey," Rory says, the sarcasm oozing from every syllable. 

"They who dream by day have _all_ the fun, Gilmore …" She stares at him wide eyed, her expression causing him to snort with laughter.

"Get out! Get out of my seat! Mixing Poe with lewd comments?" she exclaims in frustration, pushing against his arm. Finding humor in her severe reaction, he nearly doubles over with laughter.

"Dammit Tristan, I'm not kidding. I'm in no mood to deal with your immature antics," she explains, rather pissed off by this point.

"Mary, you're never in the mood," he comments as his laughter begins to die down. They catch each others' gazes for a moment before she slumps back in defeat.

"Ah, come on, Gilmore. It's only a couple more hours until we reach D.C. and then you'll be rid of me." Rory continues to look forward for a moment until she slowly meets his eyes.

"What's your room number?" she asks, entirely at random. Tristan blinks at her, having not expected those particular words to come from her mouth. Unable to resist the tempting dilemma she has set herself up for, he smirks broadly.

"Why? Will I be receiving some late night visits?" She glares.

"If anyone comes to your room late at night, DuGrey, it will be the police." He glares.

"Yeah, wouldn't expect a prude Mary like you at my door." She frowns.

"No, I just wouldn't show up at _your_ door." He frowns.

"You can't deny the truth, Rory." He smirks.

"And neither can you, Tristan." She smirks in return.

"Yeah, but…" She interrupts him.

"I have a boyfriend, you know." He blinks at her, shocked. Her lips are set in a thin line, but her eyes refuse to meet his.

"So whatever you're up to…" she glances at him but quickly looks away, "it just needs to stop."

"Fine," he replies shortly, erasing all emotion from his voice. He stares forward, ignoring her figure lingering in the corner of his eye. He finds himself wondering one more question, though.

"Why did you want to know my room number?" He continues to look forward, but he can sense her looking at him. She pauses for a moment, and he assumes she is deciding how to answer.

"I wanted to make sure our rooms were not even remotely close to each other…" she lets her words trail off. His expression turns grim.

"Well, Mary, you won't have to worry about that now, anyway," he comments, trying not to sound bitter, though knows he probably does. 

"I know," she responds, her voice quiet. Hearing the rustle of her shifting in her seat once more, he feels her gaze leave him, and suddenly he feels a deep sense of loss. 

_Ignoring her while sitting next to her for the next couple of hours is going to be more difficult than it's been ignoring her this entire past week_, he silently thinks to himself. With an inward groan he pulls out his MP3 player and headphones. Just as he puts on his headphones, the bus lurches forward.

And they're off.

***

A sharp searing pain suddenly rips through Tristan's shin, causing his eyes to fly open. 

"Ow! Fu-…"

"Watch yourself, there's teachers around," interrupts a voice. Rubbing his shin viciously he looks up to the keeper of the voice and glares into her blue eyes.

"Damn Gilmore, why'd you do that?" Tristan questions sardonically, now glaring at her booted feet.

"It's time to get off the bus," she replies simply, holding her pack closer to herself and wrapping her hands around a paper cup of coffee. Returning his eyes to her face, he notices her eyes seem dimmer and her hair flatter. _She looks exhausted_, he silently observes. Deciding to cut her some slack he stands and moves into the aisle, giving her room. She glances at him for a moment before hurriedly following suit.

"Thanks…" she begins but abruptly stops when his hand reaches out, catching her arm. Well, not that much slack.

"No problem, Mary. I'll see you tonight." He winks at her, removing his hand which has seemingly grown searing hot from the touch. To his disappointment, she brushes off the comment, too fatigued to give him any type of response. Unexpectedly finding himself confused and wishing, he watches her walk down the aisle and off the bus.

Knowing all too well the feeling of desire and longing, Tristan has yet to become accustomed to the effect the feeling has on his mind and heart. From the moment he first saw her, every thought concerning her has caused him to feel as though if only his aching heart could brush against the warmth that is her, then maybe he would be saved. If maybe that one brush would wipe away all the confusion and the pain, and leave him with an unclouded soul at long last.

No lingering touch on the arm, or physical contact of any kind, has purged this single notion, but instead has left Tristan wishing for more. Oh how the touch of his hand to her arm leaves him aching, silently reaching, for anything solid to grasp; anything that he can hold on to, tightly, and without slip.

And every fiber of his being wants nothing more than for that solidity to be her.

But, no longer can he run away from it, or hide behind distance. Because distance no longer separates them, and he is rendered defenseless to his own heart. No longer can lies keep the bad-boy safe from the good-girl and the near agony he endures from watching her heart belong to another. A wishful man in love is doomed a self-destructive fate.

_If only…_

So overwhelmed by this point, Tristan walks numbly out of the bus and gathers his bags from the storage compartment. As if programmed, he methodically begins to follow the other students across the parking lot, his expression grim and his emotions rioting within him. It's not until he nearly reaches the overhanging roof that he notices the drizzling rain running through his blonde locks and staining his Gucci leather jacket. Pausing, he looks to the sky, blinking as droplets tenderly kiss his face with their cooling touch. As the shower trickles down his cheeks, a sudden thought occurs to him.

What if he doesn't stand by like he did before? What if he goes deeper, past the "touch", and actually "feel"? He knows all too well that he feels for her, but could Rory ever feel for him? Had he ever really given her a chance to feel before he ran off, cradling his wounded ego and heart? Does he really have the power to change everything? Does anybody really have the will to pursue what they know they want, despite fears and pains?

**Yes.**

This single thought, this single word, rings solely in his heart, mind, body, and soul and suddenly Tristan feels a lightness filling him. As if the clouds themselves are parting and the sun's glorious rays are shining only for him.

_I have nothing to lose_, he thinks to himself. He feels a magnificent smile finding his lips, and his heart flutters within him, as if brought back to life.

_This is my final chance to take what I know, with every part of me, that I want. And dammit, I won't let this opportunity pass me by like it did before._

His eyes slowly lower to the hotel in front of him--to the doors leading into the hotel. _When I walk through those doors…_ he thinks to himself as he begins stepping forward, _I will stop at nothing to get what I want._

Stepping at last through the sliding doors, his grin melts into a smirk. _Besides, DuGreys always get what they want._

***

Finding his room hasn't been a problem. Getting unpacked hasn't been a problem. Preparing for their elegant first dinner in the prestigious hotel restaurant also hasn't been a problem. What does this equation add up to? Zero problems.

_Just the way I like it_, Tristan thinks to himself with a smirk. Searching for his placement card amongst the numerous round tables, Tristan catches Rory entering from the corner of his eye. As he continues his hunt he observes her unobtrusively, she too looking about for her seat. He finds his and picks it up, gently fingering its edges, silently waiting for her to find her own. When she at last seats herself, he palms his card and nonchalantly approaches her table, his hands pocketed in his pants. Doing his best to appear uninterested he silently walks behind her and around the other side of the table, discreetly reading the name cards placed on it. He smirks, seeing the name of one of his friends.

Just then a tapping noise sounds through the nearby speakers, and all eyes, including Rory's, turn to the front of the room where a teacher stands holding a microphone. Seizing his chance, he slips his card in the place of his buddy's.

"Welcome students, to Washington D.C., our great nation's capitol," the teacher says with a broad smile. "There are just a couple of things we need to discuss before we jump into dinner. I know you're all starving so I'll make it quick," she explains at the sound of audible groans passing through the audience. She continues, "Every day at breakfast myself or another teacher will give you a brief overview of the places we will visit that day. Don't be alarmed, though, all of you will have the freedom to roam about freely on your own. So everyone needs to please be up here for breakfast, 7:30 sharp, tomorrow morning." Finishing her speech, the teacher steps down from behind the small podium and the murmur amongst the student resumes. 

As if on cue, Tristan's "placement card friend" approaches the table, looking rather excited.

"Hey man," he says, noticing Tristan's gaze on him. Tristan flashes a confident grin before pulling him to the side.

"Could you do me a favor?" Tristan asks, his voice low. He pulls out his friend's name-card and places it in his hand. 

"Sure, what do you need?" his friend asks, looking to his card with a puzzled expression.

"Would you switch seats with me? My old seat is over there," Tristan explains, nodding to the empty chair a few tables away. Giving him a questioning look his friend opens his mouth to speak; but seems to decide against it and simply nods.

"No problem," he says, walking away and leaving a pleased Tristan behind. Smirking at his cunningness, Tristan spins around on his heel, saunters back to Rory's table, and slips into his seat. Rory immediately notices him, looking at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"That's your seat?" she asks in disbelief, causing his smirk to broaden. 

"That it is, Mary. How lucky for you," Tristan comments in a snarky tone. Rory simply rolls her eyes, turning her attention to her silverware. She begins to mindlessly finger her fork, her blue eyes observing everything in the room except him. Her gaze eventually comes to rest on her glass of water, and she stares, distant. Tristan feels his heart suddenly flurry in concern, and his smirk fades into a soft expression.

"Are you alright?" he asks her, his voice gentle, caressing. At the sound of his voice, her eyes snap away from the water and meet his. Though less distant, they remain unfocused. Unintentionally, his brows furrow and this seems to snap her from her daze.

"That's the second time you've asked me that," she comments bluntly. "You make it sound as if you actually cared, DuGrey." Her biting tone pierces through his lowered guard, and he visibly winces.

"Well do a guy a favor, then, and answer his question before any more damage can be done," he utters with a seriousness that appears to startle her. She looks at him for a moment longer, as if determining his true intentions, before sighing softly.

"It's nothing," she quietly explains, running her hand through her hair.

"Come on, Gilmore…"

"Tristan, why the hell should I tell you anything? You've never given a damn before and frankly you're not the type of person that I would confide in." Her expression turns grim. He purses his lips, trying to control his swirling emotions.

"Rory, you don't know a thing about me. So you can't judge whether or not I'm someone you can talk to. So just try me." He stares at her intently, willing her to talk to him. When she continues to play with her silverware his mind begins to race. His eyes suddenly move beyond her face and travel down the rest of her. Her long black dress fits her in the right places, yet presents her with a sensible elegance that causes his blood to start pumping. Tristan has to bite his tongue to keep from gasping, or groaning, out loud.

"You look beautiful." The words tumble from his lips without a second thought. Startling himself, he nervously fixes his gaze to hers, which now rests on him in wide-eyed shock. Surprisingly, he notices her cheeks begin to pink and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

"Thank you," she mumbles quietly, fixating her gaze on her fidgeting hands. Both caught in the uncomfortable moment, they remain silent throughout the ordering process. Finally, as their food is being placed in front of them, Tristan decides to play his hand.

"Looks like we ordered the same thing," he comments, looking at the fried chicken on her plate. Beginning to cut her food, she looks up to him and presents a small smile.

"Fried chicken is the only way to go," she quips, taking her first bite. A grin instantly materializes on her face. "Oh man, and it's good fried chicken." An unexpected wave of relief washes over Tristan, and he too grins.

"We're two of a kind," he utters before shoving large forkfuls of chicken into his mouth. As the flavor practically devours his senses whole, Tristan notices the unmistakable feeling of hunger coursing through him. _Geeze, she even makes me forget to eat_, he remarks to himself.

"You know," she quips, "I'd have to argue that." He gives her a questioning look.

"You and I are nothing alike," she continues.

"En contraire, Gilmore, we are more alike than you think." She eyes him suspiciously.

"What are you up to DuGrey?" 

"Nothing. Just making a point," he explains, taking his last bite.

"Which is…?"

"That we're alike."

  
"Which was already established. Are you going anywhere with this?" Her annoyance is beginning to creep into her voice, causing him to smirk.

"Not at the moment, no. Our similarities will show…in time." At this she snorts, forking her last piece of chicken.

"Trust me, time is not all that separates us, DuGrey." He raises a brow.

"Yes, well, things change." Her eyes snap to his.

"And some things don't," she states bluntly, sounding tired. He stares intently at her for a moment, attempting to grasp all mysteries that concern her.

"Mary, you're unusually pessimistic tonight. Actually, you have been all day. Which means something is wrong." Her eyes narrow.

"You keep talking as if you know me, but you don't." He bites down on his cheek to keep his emotions from controlling his mouth…for once.

"You don't know me either. But like I said before, things change." _There, safe response._

"What things change? What the hell are you talking about?" _Or maybe not._ Letting out a frustrated sigh, Tristan runs his hands through his hair.

"Do we really need to go through this again?" he questions tiredly. Her narrowed eyes are suddenly ablaze, angry, defensive.  
  
"God dammit! You're so infuriating! With you it's never simple. You twist and you-"

"Is that why you're with Dean?" he interrupts, not desiring to hear her insults. "Because everything with him is so simple, safe?" Her mouth remains agape from when her previous sentence was cut short. She simply stares at him before looking down at her hands.

"I'm not with Dean anymore," she says quietly, but the words hit his ears as if they were being screamed into his head from a mere inch away.

"You're with somebody else?" he asks, somehow finding his voice, though it hurts to speak. Slowly, she brings her eyes up to meet his.

"Yes. My boyfriend's name is Jess. We've been together for about a month now…" With each passing moment of silence Tristan feels his insides twist and wrench, nearly to the point of nausea. Swallowing, he attempts to ignore the punishing emotions coursing through him.

"So is that why you're so upset? I didn't think it could be Dean, because he is perfect. Or so I thought until a second ago…" Tristan stops his babble, but looks her in the eye.

"What happened?" he asks. Her brows crease in confusion.

"What?" He licks his lips, internally building up his walls to protect himself from whatever answers he may receive.

"What happened between you and Dean?" Though his voice is sincere, the fire in her eyes returns.

"That's none of your business," she snaps defensively. _Oh this is where we're alike Rory, _he silently tells her._ You're defensive like me-- only trying to protect yourself. _

"Okay. Then what happened between you and Jess?"

"That's also no-"

"None of my business right? Well, excuse me for wanting to know what reasons could drive you to treat me even crappier than usual." His justification seems to cause a little voice in her head to snap her back to reality and her expression softens.

"I'm sorry Tris-"

"It's fine," he interrupts, giving her a small smile. Her eyes, full of mysterious emotion, gaze deeply into his. Feeling as though she is looking into his most intimate depths, he looks away.

"Tristan? Why are you being so nice to me? Because you're entirely correct, I've never treated you right." His small smile twitches upwards a little further.

"Yeah, well I've never treated you right either…" He let's his voice trail off, feeling waves of guilt pour over him. She respectfully remains silent. 

"We have one messed up relationship," he carries on, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm beginning to think all of my relationships are messed up." At her confession, he returns his eyes to hers, a small smirk playing on his lips. She sighs, and suddenly he has the intense urge to take her hands into his. But he refrains.

"Tell me about it, Gilmore," he says playfully at first but his expression soon turns serious. "Honestly, you can tell me about it." She bravely holds his gaze.

"I might just take you up on that, DuGrey. I just might."


	3. Chapter 3

**The Space Between**

**Chapter 3  
****by give_me_back_me**

_Look at us spinning out in_

_The madness of a roller coaster_

_You know you went off like a devil_

_In a church in the middle of a crowded room_

_All we can do, my love_

_Is hope we don't take this ship down_

Tristan groans. And if he had kept count throughout the day, probably adds to the thousands by this point. Dropping his bag at the foot of his bed, he falls backwards onto it, arms and legs spread lazily, his muscles cooing with relief. 

"What a day," he mutters to himself, recalling his adventures among the sights of Washington D.C. Most of all, he remembers the look Rory had given him when a waitress at the coffeehouse had asked for his number. The look implied disgust, of course, but within those pools of blue was a dimness that dispelled sadness. For whatever reason, she had been sad when she had seen him with the other girl. And he had foolishly gained hope from that.

"Yeah, DuGrey, you're a fool. She's sad about her small-town boyfriend…" he lets his words trail off, considering them useless at this point.

_Words._

Suddenly, an idea springs to Tristan's mind, causing him to abruptly sit up, small smirk already in place. _Maybe words aren't so useless_, he silently considers, as his mind races with plans. Within minutes, he's groomed and running out the door to the lounge area next to the dining hall. His azure eyes flit about the area, in search of brown hair, a flash of blue, a girl with a book in hand. 

The moment his eyes rest on her, it's as if a majestic light descends from above, bathing only her in a magnificent beauty. Watching her turn the page of the novel in her lap, his mouth immediately goes dry. _Oh god_, he thinks in exasperation. Marveling at her beauty, his heart starts pounding loudly within his chest. His entire body begins to hum and he knows it's simply because she's in the room. _Only she can do this to me…only her._

"I want only her," he whispers, the delicate words more powerful than the loudest shout. Slowly, he approaches her, his senses suddenly highly sensitive. She seems to sense him because she suddenly looks up, directly meeting his eyes. His insides twist.

"Hey Rory," he says, trying not to appear too eager. He seats himself next to her on the couch, mirroring her crossed legged position. She studies him and he boldly studies her back. 

"Hello Tristan," she replies, silently closing her book and setting it aside. She turns slightly towards him, unintentionally making their conversation more intimate. He licks his lips before taking in a deep breath.

"So, before, I made you an offer. You said you might take me up on it," he pauses. "And after watching you mope around our nation's capitol all day I'm suggesting that you take the offer." Her eyebrow quirks upward.

"I did not mope around," she argues, though probably sounding unconvincing even to her self. He gives her a pointed look, his eyes daring. Her stubborn eyes dare back for a moment before she sighs, blinking tired eyes.

"Look Tris-"  
  
"No excuses, Gilmore. Talk to me. Right here, right now."

"But it's not that simple-"  
  
"But it is. Put your pride on the shelf for one conversation." She gives him a look of annoyed astonishment.

"You're such a hypocrite!" she exclaims argumentatively. His eyes narrow.

"You think I'm a hypocrite for coming to you, and offering some much needed help? Gee, one order of proud hypocrite coming right up," he remarks sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Her eyes soften and she chews on her lip. Unable to resist, he watches her pink tongue dart out to wet her now raw lips.

"Well…" she starts but her sentence trails off.

"Well, you're upset over something with Jess, right?" he asks, deciding to start the conversation. She nods quietly.

"Before I left, we got into a fight. As usual, the fight was about how he thinks my mother hates him, which is true, but she's trying. He just doesn't see it, though, and he sometimes makes these remarks about it that makes me so angry. I mean, she's my mother!" Rory explains, the anger edging into her voice. Tristan nods, encouraging her to continue.

"Then I told him I was sick of fighting about it. And that he needed to get over it or things between us would never work. Then _he_ had the nerve to angry with _me_ and threatened to go back to New York and live with his mom." By this point she is shaking with anger. Though hesitant, Tristan rests his hand reassuringly on her arm, giving it a light squeeze. To his surprise, she relaxing, giving him a somewhat grateful look.

"So now I'm worried that when I get home, he'll be gone," she finishes, exhaling a long breath. 

"I find that kind of strange, actually. Because if I were in Jess's position, I'd be doing everything in my power to get your mom to like me, rather than just complain about it all the time and making you feel bad." Rory's eyes widen in awe. She remains silent for a moment before laying her hand on top of his, giving him a sincere smile.

"You're sweet, Tristan. Maybe I really don't know you as well as I thought I did." The pressure of her fingers resting lightly atop his sends shivers coursing through him. Every instinctive impulse known to the male specimen screams at him to take advantage of her vulnerability and seduce her with his heavenly charms. But Tristan ignores any impulses and removes his hand, solely focusing on the duty of comforting her.

"You, Gilmore, are in need of some fun. Some real, hard-ass, forget-all-problems, fun," he says with a broad smirk. She returns his smirk with a half smile.

"But we're on a school trip. How do you expect to have that kind of fun here?" she questions timidly, as if almost afraid of what he might suggest. Tristan shoots a quick glance to make sure no teachers are within hearing range.

"What the teachers don't realize is that the students have been planning a big bash since day one. Since we're leaving Monday, it's tonight, in the basement of this place. Apparently we were able to pay off enough of the employees to clean out the space and keep their mouths shut," he explains excitedly. She gapes at him.

"How can you guys expect the teachers not to notice that none of us are in our rooms?" she asks skeptically.

"The old wait until the teachers go to sleep routine. Besides, I think only the people who are told about it get to go. Like you, Gilmore. You're going." Her eyes narrow.

"Thank you, but no," she states simply, uncrossing her legs and stretching them a bit.

"Ah, Mary, come on. Take a risk. It's just one night and nothing's going to happen. Carpe diem."

"First of all, carpe diem means seize the _day_--it isn't telling me to seize the _night_. So, nice try. Secondly, this sounds oddly like you're trying to get me in bed." He blanches, practically choking on his own air. At his expression she bursts out laughing, much to his expense. Recovering what little pride remains, he smirks leeringly. 

"Well, Mary I'm saving that line for later." He winks at her and she rolls her eyes in response. Picking up her book she begins to stand, but Tristan's hand gently grips her wrist to stop her. Her gaze snaps back to him in surprise.

"Please, Rory. I'd like some company. And I really think it'd do you some good," he says softly, lightly applying more pressure on her wrist to further distinguish his plea. She chews her lip, looking unnerved.

"I don't know…"

"And you can leave whenever you want. So long as you can admit to having at least a little fun beforehand," he adds. She seems to consider this for a moment before letting out a sigh.

"Fine, I'll go." Instantly his face breaks into an excited grin.

"Wonderful. I'll swing by your room tonight then," he says, standing beside her. He finally removes his hand, cramming it into his pocket.

"Alright, it's a date." His face snaps to hers at her choice words and he can see her blush.

"I mean…my room number is 504," she stutters. He nods quickly.

"See you tonight, Rory." He brushes past her, shoulders lightly touching, electricity instantly traveling.

"See you tonight, Tristan," she says quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. Oh how wonderful it sounds to hear his name coming from her lips.

***

Tristan DuGrey is actually nervous. After spending a near hour getting ready, and then proceeding to pace the room back and forth for a half an hour, his nerves are slowly driving him to the breaking point. The very notion of picking up Rory has been gradually gnawing at the pit of his stomach, leaving him aching. And now the ache is so immense he feels on the brink of nausea_. It's ironic how the human body reacts to some of the things people like most_, he thinks to himself. Snorting at his own thoughts he rolls his shoulders, trying to ease his tension.

"Oh fuck it." 

Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he takes one last look in the mirror. Unbuttoning one more button, he quietly makes his way from his room to the elevator. As the elevator ascends through the darkened halls, the aches of anxiety morph into butterflies of excitement. Tonight, he is going to show Rory the time of her life.

When the elevator reaches her floor and he steps out, he hesitates, his gaze darting up and down the halls in search of any people. Gladly finding no one in sight, he creeps his way to room 504, the numbers on the door glittering on the dim lighting of the hall. Just as he's about to knock, the door suddenly swings open. Startled, he steps back, giving Rory room to silently slip out.

"Sorry if I scared you. I was keeping watch," she says, gently closing the door with a quiet click. She turns to face him and Tristan's eyes immediately go wide.

"Wow…" he mumbles, just barely coherent. His gaze travels up from black open toed shoes, past milky smooth calves, beyond a knee length navy skirt, over a plain white three-quarter-length sleeve dress shirt, to lightly painted pink lips and big innocent blue eyes. Her eyes are what capture him the most. They would captivate him forever but she suddenly looks away, sheepishly.

"Um, so I guess we better get going before somebody sees us," she suggests, whispering. He nods mutely, dazed by the awing beauty before him. From years of teaching, he courteously extends his elbow to her. She hesitates, but gently places her hand around it.

Within minutes they reach the basement doors, a melodic thud pounding through it from the inside. Gently removing her hand from his arm he knocks loudly on the door, the sound echoing down the halls. Noticing Rory fidgeting beside him, he gives her a small reassuring smile. The door suddenly swings open, startling both.

"DuGrey you're just in time. The party's just starting to heat up," says a brown-haired boy opening the door.

"Good," Tristan says satisfactorily. Taking a look at a nervous Rory, he extends his hand, silently requesting her to take it. This time she doesn't hesitate, instantly grasping it with her own. Tristan's body immediately reacts to the contact, pulsing with electric exhilaration. With a new sense of indescribable elation, he pulls her through the entrance into the already hot room.

The boy's comments about the party are correct; there are about fifty students crowding the dance floor all at once. Still holding her hand tightly, Tristan guides Rory through the cramped quarters, squeezing through the thick crowd to a more secluded corner of the room where ice coolers are placed.

"Want a soda?" Tristan offers. Tearing her eyes away from the crowd, she looks to him uncomfortably.

"No, I'm okay," she answers, glancing at the coolers somewhat fearfully. She begins to chew on her lip, her nervous eyes again returning to the mass of people in the center of the room. 

Tristan takes a soda for himself and settles comfortably next to her against the wall. They listen to the music for a little while, Tristan lightly bobbing his head to the beat. But Rory remains rigid and is in obvious discomfort. Downing the last bit of his soda, he sets the empty can on the floor next to his feet.

"Would you like to dance?" he asks, turning to Rory. If possible, her stature becomes even more rigid, and her eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights.

"No, that's okay," she answers quickly, her eyes darting away from his. 

"Aw, come on Rory. You need to loosen up a bit." Tristan extends his hand, lightly touching hers with his own. All of a sudden the lights are dimmed and a slow song starts up. The hyped up crowd calms and begins to sway to the slow, languid beat. Tristan takes a step closer to Rory, looking at her partially shadowed face.

"Please?" His final plea is soft, honest. Seeming to find comfort in the darkened room, Rory's hand links with his and without a word she moves away from the wall. She pulls him to the dance floor and faces him. For a moment they look intensely at each, before stepping closer to one another. Rory's arms link lightly around his neck, and his hands rest gently on her hips. They begin to sway to the music.

Tristan suddenly finds himself surrounded with sensations he has never experienced. The coconut aroma from her hair swirls his senses. The warmth of her body in his hands spreads all the way to his core. The lightest touch of her fingers brush against the hairs on the back of his neck. The intensity with which her eyes gaze into his depths causes his heart to pound. 

Without thought, he pulls her closer to him, one hand resting on the small of her back, the other putting gentle pressure on her shoulder blades. Her arms tense slightly, but she almost immediately relaxes, laying her head on his shoulder.

In this very moment, the space between them has become virtually invisible.

Any onlooker can see the intimacy of their embrace. No friends with strictly platonic feelings would ever hold each other in this fashion. Their embrace is that of lovers; yet, the two never reveal any feeling--caught in severe denial…wicked lies.

There is no denying it now.

As all that is she envelopes him, Tristan realizes he wants this moment to extend forever. _Rory, in my arms forever_. He physically shivers, causing her to look up at him. He smiles genuinely at her, every molecule of his body desiring nothing more than to kiss her. When he licks his dry lips, her eyes flit away from his eyes and focus on his mouth. Her eyes suddenly flash, causing his heart to nearly stop. _I know that look…_he thinks to himself, startled.

"Tristan?" she asks, her voice quavering a bit.

"Yeah?" His tone is low and husky.

"Can we get some fresh air?" Her eyes slowly return to his.

"Sure," he replies, pulling away from her. They press their way through the crowd once again and shuffle out the door leading to the outside parking lot. 

The air, though humid, bathes his flushed skin with its cooling vapors. He wipes his brow, which had become increasingly damp in the cramped room. She too is brushing her hair from her face, inhaling deep breaths of clean air. Stretching a bit as she walks, she moves across the small back lot to the curb where she seats herself. Tristan follows suit, glad to rest his still aching legs.

"It's been a long day," Tristan comments, making conversation. He leans back on his elbows, gazing up through the lighted lot to the clear sky. 

"That it has," she replies. She too looks to the sky, squinting her eyes a bit.

"It's too bad we can't see the stars with all the city lights," she continues. "The sky is beautiful at this time of the year." Tristan tears his gaze from the sky and looks to her.

"I've seen more beautiful," he explains, staring at her pointedly. Her head snaps back to the earth. Again, her eyes flash and Tristan's heart skips a beat. Without warning Rory's face is slowly coming closer to his, her gaze locked within his. With only a mere inch separating them she hesitates; but Tristan erases all vestige of space and brushes his lips to hers in a short, sweet kiss. He hears her sudden intake of breath and pulls back just barely. To his surprise her eyes remain closed, her lips slightly parted, her enthralled expression that of near bliss.

"Rory I…" Tristan whispers but his voice is lost when her eyes part open. Her hand slowly reaches up, lightly tracing a path down his cheek with her fingertips.

"Shh." And her lips are instantly on his, melding, meshing. He reacts instantly, tasting her sweetness through a light-headed daze. His world is spinning as the pressure of her lips on his increases. Her hands reach behind his neck, pulling his warm body closer, as if craving his touch. His hands entwine in her hair, his lips continuing to oblige to her ever move. 

Opening his mouth slightly, he runs the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip, silently begging them to part. Without hesitation she indulges, meeting his tongue with her own. The depth of their kiss is fast becoming a heated exchange of needed desire and passion. 

Finding air necessary, though, Tristan reluctantly breaks the kiss, his chest heaving, her hot breath hitting his face. Their passionate azure gazes remain locked, their eyes at last revealing the emotions no words could describe. 

"Come on," Tristan says simply, his voice coarse with desire. He takes her hand, pulling her up onto unsteady legs. On his own legs shaking, he leads her back into the building, past the party, and all the way back to her floor. They pause before her door.

Half expecting her to dash into her room, he is surprised to see her looking him square in the eye. Seeming not in the least disturbed, she reaches out, gripping his hand with her own. The touch becomes a bridge with which their emotions pass to one another. Feeling no uncertainties from her, and none of his own, he takes a step forward, placing his hands on her hips once again.

"Come in," she says. It is less of a request and more of a polite demand. She swipes her card through the lock and pushes the door open. Turning back to him, she gently tugs him through the door and shuts it behind him. 

Any awe that he has been feeling suddenly escapes from his body, replaced by his usual masculine confidence. Within a second he has her pressed against the wall, his lips dueling with hers. Her hands frantically clutch at his shirt, unbuttoning the buttons with impressive ease. As his shirt slips away and her hands explore his chest he presses his hips harder against hers, any previous restraint gone with the shirt.

His masterful hands tug her shirt over her head and discard the impending clothing with his own. With hands probing, mouths throbbing, Tristan backs her away from the wall towards the bed. Their lips refusing to disconnect, they fall back onto the bed, Tristan pinning Rory beneath him. When her breasts brush against his chest they groan in unison.

His hands gently caress her breasts through the fabric of her bra, causing her to emit moans in her throat. His already aching groin responds to her throaty noises, stretching to a near painful point. Breaking the connection of their lips, he trails his tongue to the hollow of her throat, dipping his wet tongue into the tiny cavern. As he continues to barrage her neck with licks and kisses his skilled hands slowly unclasp her bra. Before removing it, he pulls away, gazing into her eyes, silently requesting permission. 

Her response is a smile.

And this night, two people, that barely consider each other as friends, join one another on a level far beyond that of any friendship…

As lovers.


	4. Chapter 4 Part 1

**The Space Between**

**Chapter 4, Part 1  
****by givemebackme**

_The Space Between_

_Where you're smiling high _

_Is where you'll find me if I get tickled_

_The Space Between_

_The bullets in our firefight_

_Is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you…_

An unmistakable warming pressure against his chest stirs Tristan from blissful sleep. The pressure moves a bit, and realizing someone is in his bed with him, he is startled. Cracking open his eyes, he sees the sleeping form of Rory pressed against his own, her hand touching his chest in her sleep. In an overwhelming rush of memories he suddenly recalls the previous night's activities with the sleeping beauty beside him. His tired eyes close once again and he smiles. He lies for a while, reveling in the unforgettable moment. 

_Rory and I slept together. We made love. And now I'm laying here in bed, holding her in my arms._

His mind suddenly becomes a jumbled mix of realizations and hopes. Hopes that Rory's decisions made the night before were not rash ones, but ones made of feeling for _him_.   
  
Why else would she go as for as to sleep with him? He knows she had been a virgin. He could see it in the expressions she made, the touches she gave him. They were unsure, but willing. Willing to be with him, willing to accept him. Her acceptance has warmed his aching being. And for once his true dreams seem in his reach. 

The feelings besieging him are like that of getting tickled. No matter what he does or thinks, a fluttering sensation from deep within him has his eyes watering with undeniable happiness. With every breath he takes her scent invades his senses, implanting within his memory for all eternity. 

**_I'm in love._**

The thought, though simplistic, is so profound, so honest, and so true to his every feeling that Tristan has to bite his tongue to keep from whooping in elation.

_I'm in love, and it doesn't scare me._

Again the overwhelming need to express his glee consumes him. He suddenly wants to tell her everything; his every feeling, his every thought, his every hope and dream. He wants Rory to truly know him, and love him back in the way that he loves her.

As if hearing his thoughts she begins to stir awake. At her movements Tristan reopens his eyes, watching her rub her eyes in a half daze. Giving her some assistance, he brushes her hair from her face with his hand. In response to his touch her eyes quickly snap open, staring directly at him from mere inches away. After a moment she seems to remember everything and much to his delight she gives him a small smile.

"Hey," she says in a small voice. He leans over, gently placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Hey," he replies, smiling. She stretches her arms, causing her chocolate hair to sprawl across the pillow. As she rolls on her back, a stream of light from the rising sun streaks across her face. She winces when the light clouds her eyes.

"What time is it?" she asks, her voice groggy with sleep. He flits his eyes to the clock and then to her.

"Almost six." As Tristan stretches his own limbs, lightly kicking at the blankets covering them, Rory groans.

"It's too early," she complains. He smiles at her childish antics.

"And it's freezing," she adds, yanking the covers over her head. Grinning he joins her underneath.

"Tristan! I'm naked under here," she exclaims upon his entrance under the sheets. 

"So? Rory, I've already seen you naked." Even in the dim light he can see her turn beat red. His grin widens.

"What makes it okay you to be under here and not me? I'm naked too, ya know." She suddenly emits a small squeak, and if possible, the flush on her face deepens. Her eyes snap to his, staring, refusing to look anywhere but at is face. His grin widens two fold.

"This is kind of convenient don't you think?" he asks. Her questioning eyes narrow suspiciously. He continues.

"I mean we do have a little over an hour before we have to be anywhere. We could use this time for a little fun…" Her eyes widen even more. She begins to protest but he silences her with a slow, sensual kiss. She responds, bringing her hands behind his head and scooting herself closer to him. He starts to deepen the kiss when she suddenly pulls away. Tristan groans in protest.

"We can't do this right now," she states, pushing the covers down. He pouts.

"Oh yes we can, Gilmore," Tristan says, pulling her towards him again.

"Seriously we can't. As much as I want to we-"

"So you admit you want to," he interrupts her. She rolls her eyes.

"Yes, but I-"

"So I guess that means you had fun last night," he says, interrupting her again. Her eyes narrow a bit.

"I think I'll deny everything. Your ego is already too big." With that she stands, pulling the covers with her, leaving a naked Tristan sprawled alone on the bed.

"Ah, get back here with that!" he exclaims, trying to cover himself. She smirks.

"Aw but Tristan, I've already seen you naked," she retorts, repeating his earlier words.

"You are evil," he says, glaring at her receding back. She gives him one last glance, smirking, before stepping into the bathroom, flipping her hair haughtily over her shoulder while closing the door behind her.

In her absence Tristan's thoughts wander; wondering, searching. How can such a gift be given to him? What has he done to deserve it? Such a blessing…Rory.

He is falling--if he hasn't already. With the space between them nearly nonexistent, he no longer feels torn. Between whether Rory has been his blessing or his curse. The past night, the glorious past night, has remolded Tristan's entire existence. His heart is changed, his mind is changed, his soul and body are changed; his very essence is changed!

"Oh how I am blessed!" he fervently exclaims through gritted teeth, his feelings engorging him from within, threatening to spill from his body in a wave of pure jubilant passion. His hands clenching, his toes curling, his eyelids lolling shut.

**He feels he may cry.**

"She has given me life." His hands grasp the bed.

"I have fallen and only she can catch me." He rises up, still clutching, his eyelids slowly parting. He stares at the closed door to her bathroom.

He leisurely stands, slipping on his boxers, and padding lightly to the closed door. His hand reaches out, lightly touching the hard wood, gently stroking it as if it is precious. He brings the side of his face to the door, pressing against its cool surface. His eyes close, his brows slightly furrow, his lips turn down. His expression a mixture of near bliss and pain.

"I want to be with her forever." He whispers.

It has been three days since that morning. Three days of uncertainties and unanswered questions that seem to become more numerous with every moment.

_Why hasn't she been at school?_ he silently asks himself for the millionth time.

The bell signaling the end of seventh hour suddenly rings, snatching Tristan from his reverie. Collecting his books he leaves the class, glancing at her empty seat as he passes. He purses his lips and locks his eyes on his feet, desiring for others to leave him at peace. 

Within a matter of minutes he is in his car, driving, thinking, remembering. That morning had been a blur. While she was in the shower he had decided to slip out to avoid any early risers, leaving her a simple note signed "Love, Tristan." He had left the room happy, whistling, with a bounce in his step. He hadn't been expecting fate to toy with him for the remainder of the day, but it did.

Pulling him like a puppet, his strings had kept him undesirably at distance from Rory all day. Fist he had been assigned to a group that somehow managed to avoid her group for the entire day. Then the "clever" teachers had decided it would be nice to remain in their groups and get a chance to eat on the town that night, so he had not seen her at dinner as he had planned. And when they returned late he at last saw her, catching her exhausted expression he empted to let her sleep and see her in the morning. 

But, per usual, the gods of irony had been mocking him, as he woke up late the next morning with only twenty minutes to pack his things, eat, and board the bus; the wrong bus at that. She had been on another, which did not get caught in traffic and apparently arrived at school an hour before his did. And she had not been at school yesterday for unknown reasons that had ultimately been worrying him to the point of insanity.

"God damn," he curses out loud, his distress about to push him over the edge. His hands clench tightly around the steering wheel as he stares down the long stretch of highway before him. An exit sign sticking out of the tree branches catches his eyes, its words reading "Stars Hollow Next Right".

Immediately, an idea comes to mind.

Not completely sure of himself, he takes the exit, his stomach turning into tight nervous knots. Within a matter of minutes he pulls past the "Welcome to Stars Hollow" sign in all its flowery picket fence glory and into the root of the town. The town patrons walking the streets instantly notice the fancy sports car, entirely out of place, whipping its way through the small town. Making a left, Tristan silently thanks the online directions that he used the last time he had been in Stars Hollow to work on the _Romeo and Juliet_ project. 

At last coming upon her house, he parks along the street, noticing the beat up car parked alongside the black Jeep. Just as Tristan closes his car door, the front door to her house swings open and an angry looking dark-haired boy quickly descends the steps, followed by a frantic looking Rory. 

"Jess, where are you going?" she asks in exasperation, grabbing the arm of the dark-haired boy and turning him around.

"Home," the boy states simply yet defiantly and turns to leave once more.

"Wait Jess, I-" She suddenly stops, her shocked eyes locking on Tristan. The dark-haired boy's eyes follow her gaze and land on him with a glare. The two boys stare at each other, unsure of the other, yet each holding their heads high with confidence.

"Who are you?" the dark-haired boy asks Tristan. Swallowing, Tristan gaze flits to a now very flustered Rory, who stands beside the boy, fidgeting. Tristan returns his gaze to the boy, squaring his jaw.

"I'm Tristan DuGrey," he states simply, taking a couple of steps towards the couple. With each step his already clenched stomach squeezes harder, causing him to feel nauseous. The boy's skeptical gaze shifts from Tristan, to the flushed Rory, and then back to Tristan; his skeptical gaze becoming even more unsettling. 

"What's going on?" the dark-haired boy asks both Rory and Tristan. When Tristan merely looks to Rory who in return looks away guiltily, the boy instantly turns to Rory.

"Well?" the boy asks impatiently. Rory slowly raises her eyes and opens her mouth as if to speak but no sound comes out. She quickly looks away, biting on her lip nervously. _This guy has some nerve to talk to her like that_, Tristan thinks. The dark-haired boy starts to speak to her again, but Tristan's building anger instantly cuts him off. 

"So you must be Jess?" Tristan questions the boy haughtily, intentionally sounding arrogant, hoping to grate on his nerve. The boy cocks a brow.

"What's it to you?" Jess replies snappily, Tristan's antics clearly successful. For some reason, Jess's anger only angers Tristan even more, to the point where Tristan is clenching his fists at his sides to keep from lashing out.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jess asks with impatience.

"I came to see Rory, obviously," Tristan comments obnoxiously.

"Well no shit," Jess says, rolling his eyes. Tristan glances to the mute Rory, wondering why she isn't saying anything. Realizing her intense discomfort, Tristan takes a deep breath, deciding to let this one go.

"Hey, no need to get hostile. I'll just let you two finish up with…whatever." Tristan turns on his heel and walks back to his car where he leans nonchalantly against it, trying not to pay attention to the couple. 

Tristan watches as Jess starts to walk towards the beat up car again, not having said a single word to Rory. As Rory follows Jess, her quiet pleas having no apparent affect on him, Tristan's suppressed anger rampantly spreads throughout him. His clenched hands squeeze tighter, his nails digging into his palms until they start to hurt. Rory's voice rises suddenly, making it impossible to ignore their conversation.

"Jess, please, would you stop running away and stay long enough to work this out?" Jess instantly whips around, bringing his menacing face closely to hers.

"I am _not_ running away," Jess exclaims fiercely, and she draws back in surprise. The ferocity in his voice instantly cuts any strings restraining Tristan, and within a second Tristan is at the boy's side, swinging his fist to the side of his face. A loud thud echoes as Tristan's knuckles make solid contact with Jess's unsuspecting jaw. Jess stumbles from the blow, just barely catching himself from falling. 

A now infuriated Jess plows into Tristan, running his dark-head into Tristan's stomach and pushing him to the ground with his momentum. Jess's fist replaces his head, slamming into Tristan's gut twice before the blonde can even think to react. Ignoring the searing pain in his stomach, Tristan brings his knee up and rams it into Jess's groin, pushing the smaller boy off of him, all in one motion. Now on top of Jess, Tristan starts to bring his fist back down to Jess's face, but Jess's quick hands grip Tristan's wrist, catching the two in a struggle of strength. Their sudden stalemate causes them both to be brought back to reality, and to Rory's panicked shouts.

"Tristan stop!" she screams. With surprising strength she pulls Tristan off of Jess, positioning herself between the two ravaging animals. Jess quickly gets to his feet, his body language ready to react.

"God! What in the hell has gotten into you two?" she screams at them. For the first time, Tristan notices the silent tears streaming down her face. _Oh god…_

"What the fuck is up with you, you fucking dick?" Jess asks Tristan, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. Tristan's muscles instantly flex, ready to pounce, but with Rory between them he fights the urge.

"Rory, you deserve so much better than this asshole," Tristan says to her, but keeps his eyes locked on Jess's. Rory makes a sound, about to speak, but Jess cuts her off.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Oh I get it now. You have a thing for Rory don't you? You've fallen so hard that you dragged your pathetic ass out here to plea your case." Jess's surprisingly truthful words cut Tristan deeply and he clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth start to ache.

"And conveniently for you, you caught her in the middle of a fight with her boyfriend," Jess says, continuing his angry rant. Hearing Rory's sharp intake of breath, Tristan's anger returns full force, and his immediate reaction is to lunge at Jess. 

"Tristan no!" Rory screams, holding him back from reaching Jess. With her now touching him, he instantly stops struggling and looks down at her, his expression deadly serious.

"Rory, do you love him?" Tristan asks Rory simply. She gazes up at him, startled.

"What?" she replies. Jess suddenly makes a move towards her.

"You heard him Rory," Jess adds. All the color drains from her face as she looks between the two boys. She steps back from them defensively, looking frightened.

"I…" she starts, but fumbles on the words, her voice quavering with distress. Suddenly scared shitless by her lack of response, Tristan pounces on her with another question.

  
  
"Better yet, let me ask you this. You know how I feel about you, Rory, and this weekend has made me think that you feel something for me now too." Tristan pauses, taking a deep breath. "So I want to know, right here, right now. Did you sleep with me because of choice A. sex, or choice B. love?" 

Rory stares at him in complete silence.


	5. Chapter 4 Part 2

Author's Note:  I'm such a dork.  I've had this story written for over a month now and when I decided to add it to fanfiction.net last week I told myself that I'd update a chapter a week.  Hah, look at how that went.  In my haste I stupidly didn't double check for any errors, so my previous chapters have mistakes that annoy the hell out of me; but then again I'm too lazy to fix them.  But I edited the spelling errors and as many grammar errors as I could catch for this chapter.  Anywho, I'm done babbling.  Happy reading!

**The Space Between**

**Chapter 4, Part 2****by givemebackme**

_…The rain that falls_

_Splash in your heart_

_Ran like sadness down the window into…_

_The Space Between_

_Our wicked lies_

_Is where we hope to keep safe from the pain_

The rain is slowly beginning to fall, trickling through the high tree branches, making a soft pattering sound in the stiff silence with each landed drop. But the three weary figures standing outside of the Gilmore girl's residence, take no notice of it as their minds are occupied by other thoughts.

"You slept with him?" Jess's soft whisper strikes through the heavy silence and Rory winces with each syllable. Though only standing at arms length from her, Tristan feels wholly numb, watching an unavoidable tragic situation unfurl before him, feeling helpless to do anything about it. Suddenly, everything blurs and Tristan rubs his eyes to clear away the confusion—the emptiness—but with each swipe of his hand he feels the numbness slipping away and being replaced by one new unbearable hurt after another. And with the hurt comes a seething anger.

"Rory, answer him. Tell him the truth. Don't hide behind your lies anymore," Tristan spits at Rory bitterly. Through the dim light he can see her wetted cheeks, small trails running down the soft skin from saline mixed with rainwater. At his words she begins to sob, her shoulders heaving and shaking uncontrollably. Jess slowly steps back, the space between he and Rory growing, though this does nothing to sooth Tristan's pained emotions.

"It's over, Rory," Jess mumbles, his voice deadly final. The dark-haired boy's desolate face bares an expression of mixed hurt and anger as he turns on his heel and walks to his car. Rory continues to cry, holding her face in her hands, refusing, or maybe unable, to look up at Jess's retreating form. When his car pulls out of the driveway and drives off she at last looks up, her blue eyes pale with hopelessness, staring after the remnants of her life. As Tristan watches her, his heart clenches.

_How can she just let him go?_ he wonders in silent disbelief. _How can she so easily let go of someone she cares about?_

At these thoughts, a sudden unexplainable fear bubbles to the surface from deep within him. Finding it hard to breathe, Tristan decides to mirror Jess's actions, needing to get away from the crying Rory and the confusing hurt. He gives her one last long look—she is unable to meet his gaze—before brushing past her. Just as he reaches his car he hears a small noise behind him.

"Tristan, wait…" Through all of the anger and hurt, her whispered plea reaches him, stopping him in his tracks. The dripping rain seems to have seeped through his body and splashed in his heart because he suddenly feels a coldness overcome him. He shivers.

Instead of responding to her plea, he purses his lips and gets into his car. He starts it up and speeds off, his mind racing at a pace equal to the car, his heart, always connected to her, stretching with tension in the increasing distance created with every stress on the gas pedal.

Once again, Tristan finds himself placing space between him and Rory, hoping that the relief he so craves will come with it.

It has been three long, lonely days for Tristan DuGrey. Three days of incessant hurt—his bleeding heart staining his entire existence, making it impossible for him to even feel alive. Three days of remembering—everything reminding him of Rory, his love for her, and his newfound fear of her. Three days of avoidance. Three days of zero progress.

Tristan has felt worse with every moment spent distanced from her.

Yet, at the same time he feels his insides squeeze in pain at the mere sight of her. Her lack of response has left the blonde in an unstable state—torn between loving and loathing—that has left him questioning everything that has happened between he and Rory.

Then again, there is one thing that he is always certain of: That he loves her.

How does a person, one torn between his heart and gut, make a decision that will ultimately determine the course of his life? Tristan has no fucking clue. But he wishes more than anything that he did.

The exhausted blonde rolls onto his side, facing the bright clock that reads 2:30 AM. _Mocking son of a bitch_, he thinks to himself, turning the clock away. He sighs, squeezing shut his unfocused eyes in an attempt to force drowsiness, but knowing all too well from the previous two nights that he will not be getting any sleep tonight.

He stretches his lithe limbs, feeling his muscles tighten and relax, a warm rushing feeling briefly passing through his entire body. Though physical relief is possible, mental relief is a whole other story. In the past three days, Tristan has attempted to achieve any level of prosperity by attempting every stress reliever he knows. Unfortunately, most of them, especially reading, have reminded him in some way of Rory. But luckily, one approach has proven successful: swimming.

Swimming in his backyard pool has always been a relaxing element in his everyday stressful life. Tristan would come home, slip on his suit and dive into its cool depths, relishing in the surrounding silence and the thoughtless monotony of every stroke. And swimming has always been his secret pleasure. Despite his widely broadcasted popularity at Chilton, none of his fellow students knows of his likeness towards the sport, and never will they steal the only element in his life that he has ever felt as his own.

This is why Tristan has been swimming as much as possible for the past couple of days. Nowhere in the blue depths is there a reminder of his problems or of his life at all. He alone takes advantage of the quaintness that the pool exudes, the simplicity that seeps into his every pour, and the temporary illusion of happiness.

But in the end he must come to the surface and breathe in air filled with loss and pain; and ironically, come to the surface to breathe in life itself. It has always been during these moments, when he takes his first deep breaths of air, that he feels the most sorry for himself.

In all his life, Tristan has found what most people consider the most difficult for _them_ to in actuality be the easiest for _him_. Money has never been a problem, obviously, and neither has education and all of the other necessities a growing child needs. On the other hand, though, Tristan has also discovered the things most difficult for him are what others find the simplest, such as family, friends, love, and any emotion in general.

When Tristan had at last decided to stop running away, and had accepted that no matter how much space separates him from his problems, he has since found nothing but disappointment. And now having come to the point of restless sleep, Tristan realizes the disappointment's devastating affects on his entire being. Never has he felt so uncertain and so frightened by anything.

"What am I so scared of?" he whispers into the darkness of his room. His brows furrow in frustration. _How many times have I asked myself this? A million at least_, he thinks. Again, his racing mind draws a blank.

Clutching his covers and bringing them all the way up to his chin, he rolls over onto his other side, facing the framed picture of his first "family" trip to the Bahamas when he had been six years old. Sighing, he closes his eyes, the image of Rory floating behind his eyelids and the memory of the framed picture lingering in his thoughts. Ironically, he has never felt more alone.

The next morning, Tristan wakes with a start, a cold sweat bathing his body and staining his sheets. Lightly touching his throbbing head, he breathes deeply, trying to slow his excited heart. After giving his self a minute, he glances at the clock and is glad to see it is almost time for him to wake up anyway.

Slipping from his bed, Tristan pads across his room towards the connecting bathroom, pausing in front of his window for a moment to stare longingly at his backyard pool. _If only I had time_, he silently longs. Sighing, he steps from the wood floor of his room onto the porcelain tile of the bathroom, causing a chilled shiver to course through him.

_Is that really me?_ Staring into the mirror, he barely recognizes the tired face looking back at him. He glances briefly over his sculpted body, inspecting the tanned skin and the defined lines separating each muscle. Under normal circumstances he would be smirking, silently praising his ego, but in his current mood he merely frowns, finding no satisfaction in what he sees. A thought suddenly comes to his mind, causing him to snort.

"Funny how the one thing you thought would at last satisfy you, DuGrey, has only brought you grief," he states out-loud to himself. Sighing, he shakes his head, and goes about his morning grooming, getting ready for school.

Within an hour, Tristan is once again faced with the struggle to ignore her presence seated a few rows away from him as well as his own thoughts. In that very moment he questions how he had managed to get through the previous three days and how he is to get through the upcoming one; but somehow he manages, now with only a few minutes of his seventh hour class left. He stares intently at it, watching its second hand slowly makes it way around the clock. He silently counts down every time it passes the twelve.

Three minutes…two…one. The instant the bell rings Tristan leaps from his seat and makes a mad dash for the exit. Just as he is about to pass up his locker and go directly to his car, he suddenly remembers he needs his science book and he quickly turns back to head to his locker. But as he turns around, a body runs smack into him, the person bouncing off of him and losing their balance. Acting by instinct, Tristan reaches out and steadies the person, and only when his hand makes contact with their arm does he realize whom it is.

Big innocent blue eyes stare into his, glistening in the dim light of the hall. He suddenly feels as though all of the air in his lungs has been pressed from his chest, leaving him choking for air. A feeling of being overwhelmed slams against his senses and without thinking—unable to think—he lets go of her arm and dashes down the hall and out the school doors to his car.

When he reaches his car he leans against it, catching his breath and trying to steady his spinning head. He leans forward, first resting his arms on the top of his car and then resting his head in his arms, trying to calm is pounding heart. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of those eyes looking up at him, so surprised, so beautiful…

"Tristan!" her voice calls out. His entire body stiffens, the pace of his heart quickening even more, his spinning head suddenly cloudier than before. _This can't be happening,_ he complains to himself. But when she catches up to him, out of breath, he straightens up just in time to come face to face with her, realizing all too well that it _is_ indeed happening. He clenches his jaw to keep from letting out a frustrated groan.

"Why did you run away?" she asks the instant she catches her breath. Tristan instantly tenses, the double meaning of the question not going unnoticed. His set jaw firmly tightens as he attempts to control his swelling emotions.

"Rory, I don't want to talk about this," he says through gritted teeth. She seems to notice his upset state because she hesitates. He takes advantage of that moment of hesitation and unlocks his car, throwing his bag in. Just as his first leg climbs in she suddenly speaks up.

"Tristan there are really a lot of important things I would like to talk to you about-"

"Dammit Rory! Don't you get it? I don't want to talk about it. And right now I don't want to talk to _you_." The harshness of his tone causes Rory to step back in surprise, her eyes flashing with hurt. His stomach instantly clenches.

"I just…I just can't talk right now," he says quickly, piling into his car and quickly slamming the door behind him. He peels out of the parking space with a loud screech, literally leaving Rory in his dust…along with his heart.

_What in the fuck am I so afraid of?_


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Well guys, this is the final chapter.  I'm sorry if the ending seems abrupt.  I wasn't planning to have a drawn out fic, just a shorter simpler version of a good idea.  Which I highly recommend someone else tries, because I cannot do it justice.  Anyway, I wasn't going to update just yet, but I will in celebration of my 17th birthday.  Yay.  Happy reading everyone!

**The Space Between**

**Chapter 5****by givemebackme**

_Take my hand_

_'Cause we're walking out of here_

_Oh, right out of here_

_Love is all we need here_

_The Space Between_

_What's wrong and right_

_Is where you'll find me hiding, waiting for you_

_The Space Between_

_Your heart and mine_

_Is the space we'll fill with time_

_The Space Between…_

"Pero, te quiero Pablo! Te quiero!"

"Oh Pablo, she only loves your money. Kick her to the curb!" To emphasize his demand, Tristan throws a piece of popcorn at the Spanish couple on the television screen. The Spanish soap opera is suddenly cut by a commercial break and Tristan sighs wearily, looking around the mess he has made of the den.

"What a waste of a Saturday," he says in exasperation, glancing at the ancient grandfather clock adjacent to his sprawled position on the coach as it gongs six times. Lying on his back he stares blankly at the sky light in the high wooden ceiling of the room. With the sun's soft rays already below the roof of the house, only a dim flickering of light comes through the high window, casting an eerie haunting effect on the walls.

Sitting alone in the slowly darkening room, Tristan silently berates himself for doing nothing but watching the Spanish channel the entire day—Spanish soap operas to be exact. Especially dramatic ones, that seemed ironically parallel to his own life. Each hour it had been the same story but with a different set of characters. There had been a love triangle, of course, and even a love rhombus in another, in which a lot of talk had been said but by the end of the episode the characters had made no progress whatsoever. And to Tristan, the story had been seemingly all too familiar.

_I'm sinking in quicksand—stuck—and every time I struggle I only sink deeper,_ Tristan reflects to himself sadly. The blank expression on his face sets into a deep, disappointed frown as he inwardly wishes for help. For _her_ help.

"I can't do this alone, Rory," he whispers softly, his voice full of emotion that he silently hopes will somehow reach her ears. _I need her to take my hand, and pull me out of here._

Cursing under his breath, Tristan jumps to his feet, and exits the den, making his way up the stairs to his room two steps at a time. When he reaches his room he searches through his closet for his swimming suit. He slips into it, and just as he has done so many times before, gathers his towel and goggles, and makes his way back through his house and out onto his back patio. When his feet reach the cold concrete he abruptly stops, his eyes captivated by the sky.

On the far horizon, the final rays of the setting sun seep beneath the shadowed landscape, the lone orb being replaced by twinkling lights littering the dark blue sky. It seems as though with each passing second a new light appears, some brighter than others, creating a vast scenery of ancient mystery and wonder.

Tearing his eyes from the beauty before him, Tristan walks through his yard along the stone path leading to the small pavilion beside the giant pool. Tiny ripples move sporadically across the water with each touch from the cool breeze that has always signified the fall. Shivering against the delicate contact, he drops his towel on a lawn chair and slips into the shallow end of the pool. As he dips his goggles into the surrounding wetness, his skin hums with excited exhilaration, his entire body aching to flow languidly through the picturesque bath.

With an ease that tells the eye he knows what he's doing, Tristan peels away from the side of the pool, plunging into the sweet depths, relishing in the silent breathtaking universe beneath the surface. He immediately feels the tension spilling from his body, the pains of the past days washing away, cleansing his mind, body, and soul.

_Breathtaking indeed_, he slyly thinks to himself, pushing himself to the surface. The first breath of cool air to fill his lungs revives his body at first, but after a moment he feels a stinging sensation in his chest. Within an instant, he plunges below once again, swimming from the cruelty of reality, taking pleasure in the liquid space between himself and it.

He continues this game of hide-and-seek for an hour, until his body feels saturated to the core with chlorine. Gripping the side of the pool he inspects his wrinkled fingertips, running the bumpy edges against one another, savoring the realization that he has done something useful for himself. Just as he is about to hoist himself from the pool a shadowed figure just beyond the light of the pool catches his eye. He squints his eyes wearily.

"Who's there?" he calls, his heart thudding nervously as he lifts himself from the water into a standing position beside the pool. Rather than respond, the figure moves forward, stepping into the light. Tristan gasps.

"I needed to talk to you, Tristan." Stepping over a low bush, Rory moves onto the sidewalk and walks to him, stopping when she is close enough to see his face in the dim light. With the reflected light from the pool flickering across her face, she appears almost omnipotent, outlined by the night sky. But the supreme illusion dissolves as the hurt washed away from his swim resurfaces, stronger than ever.

"No, Rory," he says shakily, taking a step back, as if she is a danger to him.

"Tristan, wait!" she calls desperately, but he turns on his heel and begins to walk away, ignoring the pleading tone of her voice. Within an instant she is gripping his arm, forcing him to face her glistening blue eyes—the object of his downfall. He immediately looks away, suddenly angered by her presence.

"No! I am done being hurt by you," he confesses, ripping his arm from her grasp.

"Tristan, I never meant to hurt you. I'm so sorry," she explains, her voice pleading with all it has. He sets his jaw square.

"Leave, Rory. I mean it," he commands through clenched teeth. His boiling emotions cause his voice to waver a bit and she seems to take this as a sign. Setting her own jaw, she squares her shoulders, looking him confidently in the eye.

"No, Tristan, I will not leave. I can be as stubborn as you. There is no way in hell that I am leaving things between us like this," she states firmly, her tone strong, yet her eyes still gleaming with tears of pure emotion. This time, he doesn't respond, and merely steps back again.

"This entire relationship has been all backward. You're not supposed to sleep with each other before you say 'I love you'," she suddenly shouts in desperation, stopping him in his tracks. His eyes narrow dangerously and he steps back forward, lower his head to her height and looking her intensely in the eyes.

"You knew how I felt about you," he explains, his voice shaking with anger. He grabs her shoulders with strong hands, shaking her. "Dammit, Rory! You fucking knew!"

"No I didn't!" she screams, the tears spilling down her cheeks. She chokes back a sob by covering her hands over her mouth. He stares at her, shocked, his grip on her arms unconsciously loosening.

"I didn't know…n-not until it was too late," she explains through choked tears. Tristan feels his insides churning and tearing, his heart hurting from indecision. God, how he can be so hurt by her and so sad for her at the same time. He swallows, trying to remove the thick lump forming in his throat.

"What do you want from me?" he asks in a pain filled whisper. She wipes at her eyes, trying to rid of the incessant tears. Meeting his gaze, she takes a strangled breath.

"You don't get it either, do you?" she asks him quietly. When he gives her a puzzled look she continues in a small voice. "I feel for you, Tristan. Ever since the day you returned I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

He stares at her, unblinking. Her words seem to have hit him into numbness, because his entire body suddenly grows rigged, immovable. _How can she say this to me now? How?,_ he silently questions himself, equally awed and frustrated with her words. Removing his hands, he breaks eye contact, unable to meet her expectant gaze.

"No," he says, shaking his head in refusal as he steps away once again. "I can't do this. Not right now. Please, just go."

"Tristan, I know you're scared bu-"

"Scared?" he interrupts her angrily. "Scared doesn't even begin to describe everything that I am feeling right now."  Her expression softens.

"That's just it. All these years, why do you think I've been so defensive around you? You scare me too, Tristan. Ever since you came back I have been a head-case." She pauses, taking a step forward. "Because since that day, I've wanted to be with you so badly and I've felt helpless to do anything about it."

His heart stops right there. Slowly, he brings his hand to his chest, covering his heart with it as if he's in physical pain. He suddenly feels so overwhelmed that his eyes begin to tear up and his body starts to shake all over.

"Please, I can't take any more of this right now. Please, Rory. Just go." Her already crestfallen expression falls even more as she nods silently. Unable to watch her go, Tristan turns his back, his ears picking up the soft sound of her feet crunching against the grass as she leaves.

"And that was Dave Mathews Band with 'The Space Between'." As a commercial starts up Tristan switches off the radio, sighing. Lying back on his bed, he thinks about the song he has just heard. Though he has never been an adamant fan of Dave Mathews Band, the song seems to have touched a part of him from deep within. Especially the ending lyrics; something about the happy ending makes his spirits feel uplifted, less troubled.

_Is a happy ending really possible?_ he ponders to himself, his interest in the topic suddenly peaked. Sitting up on his bed, he looks around his room at his expensive possessions. Every surface of every piece of furniture shines with immaculate cleanliness and organization. Any room with as well paid hired help as his would of course look this precise.

Standing, he saunters over to his desk where an assortment of schoolwork and gadgets reside. Picking up a pen, he fingers it gently, looking over the gold engraving of his last name. He snorts. _Down to the very pen the DuGrey wealth exists._

Setting the pen back down, he once again looks over his room, trying to recall any happy memories it may hold. With his mind drawing a blank, he suddenly wonders if he has ever truly been happy. One would think that being surrounded by such wealth and honor that one would find some bit of contentment. Yet, as his mind mulls over his life, he continually finds something negative about every one of his experiences. With a heavy heart, he realizes that his experience with Rory, despite his efforts, will also be remembered as a bad experience of his life.

Catching his reflecting in the corner of his eye, he turns to face the body length mirror hanging on the back of his door. Looking at himself he hears the word _pathetic_ echoing in his mind, mocking him, yet trying to tell him something that he doesn't understand. Suddenly overcome with intense frustration he throws his fist at the mirror, his knuckles landing on the reflection of his face and cracking the mirror in a zigzag design.

At the impact, an instant shock courses through his arm, rattling his bones harshly. The flesh of his knuckles suddenly screams with searing pain as glass shards rip through it, slashing open veins and muscles. Instantly retracting his hand from the mirror, he groans loudly in pain, biting down hard on his lip to keep from screaming. Cupping his bleeding hand, he stumbles to the bathroom, and runs water over his burning knuckles.

"Fuck," he yelps through gritted teeth. Grabbing the nearest towel he removes his hand from under the water and wraps the towel around it, staining it a deep crimson. Breathing heavily, he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the pulsating pain running through his hand.

"So fucking stupid," he mumbles. After a couple of minutes he pulls away the towel, inspecting his shredded hand. Noticing a few miniscule shards of glass sticking from his flesh, he digs through the bathroom drawers until he finds tweezers. Gritting his teeth he plucks each piece from his hand, setting them on the counter in a bloody heap. Finally removing the last piece he stares at the damage he has done to himself, shocked. _This is getting out of hand_, he tells himself.

Finding his small medical kit, he wraps his hand slowly, wincing at the pain. When he is finished, he returns to the mirror, now marred with a hole, and kneels to collect the glass shards on the ground. As he picks up the pieces the voice in his head starts chanting _pathetic_ once again. Grinding his teeth, his stomach bile boils with pure unstoppable rage. Rage directed at himself.

_Tristan, you fucking idiot_, he scolds himself. _You're more than pathetic by this point. You're…you're…_His thoughts stop as he searches for the right word. Suddenly, he realizes something.

"I'm pathetic because I've accepted things as they are," he voices out-loud. Turning, he looks to the broken mirror. "You said she was worth the fight, but in the end you accepted the pain." A lump suddenly forms in his throat and his eyes grow warm and moist. Stumbling backwards, he falls onto his bed, holding his head in his hands.

"You never truly fought for her," he whispers to himself. A sob chokes through his clenched throat as silent tears fall, wetting his hands and running down his arms. Feeling the wetness, he looks to his hands. _I haven't cried in years…_At this thought, a realization occurs to him.

"She _is_ worth the fight." Wiping his eyes, Tristan grabs his car keys from his nightstand and rushes from his room. Within seconds he is starting his car and peeling out of his driveway with a dramatic screech of the tires. After several nearly illegal turns he is speeding down the long stretch of highway ahead of him.

With his previous words echoing in his mind, the cloudy confusion in his head seems to clear away. _She is worth it, she is worth it…I love her._ A smile appears on his lips for what feels like the first time in years.

"I love Rory Gilmore," he says out-loud, his voice filled to the brim with pure emotion. _And I no longer have to be afraid…because I know I can make it work. I feel it inside of me. Right here. _He brings his bandaged hand to his chest and gently places it over his heart. He leaves it resting there, driving with one hand, until the exit sign for Stars Hollow appears and he has to grip the steering wheel with both hands to keep his shaking nerves from driving him off the road.

Pulling past the now familiar "Welcome to Stars Hollow" sign, the words _this is right_ repeat in his thoughts. When her driveway comes into view, his pounding heart begins to swell with a mixture of elation and nervousness. Parking his car, his shaking hands remove the car keys from the ignition. Staring at his bandaged hand, though, he feels his nerves begin to calm, his confidence build, his love grow even more; and he smiles.

Without a second thought he exits the car and bounds up to her front door. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door and waits for it to open. When he hears footsteps approaching the door from inside pounding heart skips a beat; and when the door swings open, revealing a surprised Rory in the doorway his heart nearly stops.

His eyes lock with hers and she gives him a timid smile. Standing a foot away from her, his heart beats freely, no longer stressed by the stretched limits of space and time. And as she smiles at him, he knows the space between he and Rory has at last come to its rightful place; waiting to be filled with eternal love in infinite time. He smiles back at her.

"Hi, Rory." He steps forward, taking her hand in his.

"Hi, Tristan." She brings her lips to his, filling the space between them with a simple kiss of promise.

**Note**: At the very beginning the Spanish phrase translates to: "But, I love you, Pablo! I love you!" (Although you probably were smart enough to figure that one out on your own…)

Happy endings are the only way to go! 

Thanks everyone so much for all the support.  You guys are great support. =)

(Ah this song is awesome, I highly recommend Kill Hannah.  Bitchin' band!)

Gilmore Girls forever!


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